


You Left Me With Empty Spaces

by raineraine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bipolar Ian, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Fleeing the Country, Gallavich, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich Bromance, Lip Gallagher Is Not a Babysitter, M/M, Manic Episode, Mickey Milkovich In Jail, NSFW, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Past Lip/Helene, Past Relationship(s), Protective Lip Gallagher, References to Lip/Helene, Semi-Canon Compliant, Sex After Separation, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Theft, Top Ian Gallagher, prison break - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: After going to prison, Mickey escapes-- and finds out it isn't easy on the outside, either.





	You Left Me With Empty Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow Gallavich shippers! I started this fic with a loose plot, and it ran away from me into something longer. I'm glad it did! I hope you all enjoy our boys, doing what they do best: being dysfunctional and hot. 
> 
> Thanks to @h34rt1lly for beta'ing on short notice!

_ Where the fuck are you? _

 

_ Pick up the phone. I can’t do this again.  _

 

_ … I’m supposed to be the one that leaves.  _

 

It painted a different picture, listening to messages that sounded so much like the ones he had screamed at Ian time and time again. Mickey had brought this upon himself, breaking out of prison without so much as giving Ian a coded heads up. The cold visits through four inches of plexiglass the last seven months hadn’t inclined Mickey to clue Ian to his every move, let alone his biggest. 

 

He knew better than to keep this phone. It was a damn miracle, the way someone had gotten it back to him before they made a run for it, but the GPS on it would fuck him. Mickey pressed the screen to his forehead, taking a deep breath, before he tossed it over the bridge and into the waiting water. It was in slow motion, watching the only thing that held a piece of Ian in his possession, flipping towards the ripples on the surface. The wind had picked up some time ago, whipping vicious teeth out of the waves, sinking into his phone with all the ease that Mickey couldn’t muster. 

 

Tucking his hands into the heavy jacket he had pilfered from the guard’s office, Mickey stepped away from the railing, unsure of his next destination. He needed money. And a car. Svetlana would help him-- but he couldn’t risk going to the first place the cops would look. It would be easier to do this without her. There wasn’t many options, given the circumstance, but he did the only thing that seemed sensible.

 

The L seemed louder than he remembered, with no one to save him from his own thoughts.  
  


* * *

 

“Open the fuck up!” Mickey’s clenched hand hit the door in quick succession, impatient to get inside. “Goddamnit, if you’re in there, just open the damn--”

 

“Mickey?”

 

The voice came from where to his left, and he turned to raise an eyebrow. “Jesus christ Lip, I can’t be just hanging out here.”

 

“I thought you were-- how the fuck did you get here?” Lip pinched at the bridge of his nose, shouldering Mickey aside to unlock his door. “I need a joint for whatever story you’re about to tell me.”

 

“A joint might not be enough,” Mickey replied cheekily, following behind Lip and leaning against the door to close it. “If you listen to me that probably makes you an accomplice or some shit, right?”

 

Lip fished a beer out of his fridge, tossing it to Mickey with a sigh. “Just sit down and tell me why you’re here instead of with my brother, Mickey, before I call him myself.”

 

“Unless you want an even bigger problem on your hands, I wouldn’t call Ian,” Mickey warned. Cracking the top of the beer, he watched Lip roll a joint before he launched into his explanation. “Well, first off, I broke out of prison.”

 

Lip coughed on his joint, blood draining from his face as he doubled over. “You-- that’s how you got here?!” Coughing again, Lip took another drag, closing his eyes in disbelief. “Shit. Just… Go on.”

 

“I’ll spare you most of the details,” Mickey allowed as he took a sip of the beer, studying the painting on Lip’s wall as he spoke. “The point is, I can’t just go back home. I can’t even go to your house, the fuckin’ cops will be lookin’ there first. I need a place to lay low.”

 

“And you thought you could just crash my dorm?” Lip deadpanned.

 

“I thought if you love your brother as much as I think you do, you’d probably rather help me out than send me back there.”

 

“I’d be doing this for Ian, not for you, Mickey,” Lip allowed, leaning back in his chair and smoothing hands over his face. “But you just expect me not to say a word to Ian about this?”

 

“Give me time to figure out how to get enough money to get out of here. Once I can do that, I’ll tell him myself-- and he can come with me, if he wants.”

 

“You’d put him in that kind of position? Being on the run with a fugitive?” Lip couldn’t even muster any venom behind the statement, still in disbelief that this was happening at all. 

 

“Ian can make his own decisions.”

 

Lip didn’t answer him for a while, pulling his knees further into the chair to rest his chin there, eyes glazed and fixed on the floor. Mickey had expected resistance. In all honesty, this had already gone better than he expected. After he had been sent to prison, Ian’s visits had felt distant and cold. He’d begun to doubt that his boyfriend still cared at all, but pushed the thoughts aside. It was easier to picture Ian waiting for him, and all that Mickey could cling to while he was stuck behind the same claustrophobic walls at every hour of the day. 

 

“You can stay.”

 

Lip’s voice broke through Mickey’s thoughts. His eyes widened in surprise. “You won’t tell Ian?” Mickey breathed out, clutching at the edge of Lip’s bed.

 

“No,” Lip answered with a shake of his head, “I won’t. But if you don’t, I’ll help him kick your ass, Milkovich.”  
  


* * *

 

“I’ve got a plan,” Mickey announced as Lip came back from his second class. “And it involves you.”

 

“The last week of me letting you sleep on my floor, smuggling you food from the caf, and generally wondering if my brother is going to somehow find out about this, seems to have already involved me.” Lip dumped out his backpack on the bed, gesturing to Mickey. “Speaking of food, there’s some shit in here, take your pick.”

 

“You’re not gonna ask what my plan is?” Mickey laughed as he pushed out of Lip’s desk chair to survey the food. “I don’t know how you got a whole philly cheese steak into your backpack without them noticing, but I could kiss you right now.”

 

Raising an eyebrow as Mickey unwrapped the foil-covered sandwich, Lip rubbed his eyes, considering the implications it would give if he asked about the plan. “I’d rather hear about this scheme,” he admitted with a sigh, “than kiss you. And that’s saying something.”

 

“You might need a joint for this,” Mickey allowed as he chewed. 

 

“Jesus, Mickey, that is never a way to instill confidence in a person.”

 

Mickey shrugged, attention rooted in the sandwich, as Lip set about rolling a generous joint on his desk. He already knew that Gallagher wasn't going to be happy with him once he explained, but Mickey was banking on the potential that getting his room back would be convincing enough. As Lip lit up and inhaled, Mickey lobbed the tinfoil into the trash can before standing up to pace the floor.

 

“You’re making me nervous,” Lip growled before taking another hit. 

 

“You had a thing with some rich bitch, right? That teacher?” Mickey blurted, hands carding through his (too long) hair. 

 

Lip stiffened, eyeing Mickey suspiciously. “What does Helene have to do with you?” 

 

“You hate her now, right?” Mickey demanded, sitting on the bed. 

 

The answer didn’t come immediately. Lip finished the joint first, leaving Mickey even more on edge than before, and leaned back in the chair before answering. “I hate her husband. I don’t know what I feel about her anymore.”

 

“The husband is a place to start.” Mickey leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet. It seemed easier than surveying Lip’s face for signs of pain or nostalgia. “You know I need money.”

 

“I don’t see the connection,” Lip muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the ray of sun that had slipped through the blinds. 

 

“You want to get back at him?” Mickey pressed.

 

“Yes. But it’ll never happen. I won’t get her back.”

 

“So get even!” Mickey proclaimed, standing up again and kicking at Lip’s foot. “Both of us can benefit here. They’re rich fucks, right? You know where they hide the spare key?”

 

Lip nodded in acknowledgement, the only indicator that he wasn’t asleep. 

 

“Steal some of his shit for me.” The words were the closest Mickey had come to begging in a long time. “Lip, I have no other ideas.”

 

Pushing up from the chair, Lip stood, the height difference between himself and Mickey an advantage as he peered down, eyes watery from the combination of weed and memories. “Are. You. INSANE?” 

 

“Probably.”

 

“Isn’t it enough that I could get thrown in jail with you if someone finds out I’m harboring a fugitive?!” Lip’s voice was low, but the venom was loud and clear. “You want me to steal from my ex’s husband, by breaking into their house, so you can pawn their shit to flee the country. Am I hearing you?”

 

Sighing, Mickey sat back down at the edge of Lip’s bed, not breaking eye contact. “I know what you have on the line. Don’t think I’m not grateful, Gallagher. But I have nothing to give you. This can’t be give and take. I have nothing. I don’t even have Ian.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mickey looked away, trying to disguise the tears that were welling at the corner of his eyes. “I don’t want to be nothing.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Lip groaned, looking down at Mickey. “If there’s anything I hate more than hearing you beg, it’s seeing you cry.” He breathed out, scratching at the side of his jaw before throwing himself down on the bed. “How much do you need?” Lip asked quietly. 

 

* * *

 

“I still think you should have let me be a lookout,” Mickey hissed into the phone.

 

“That’d make a grand fuckin’ headline.” Lip snapped back, “Escaped convict apprehended during a robbery.”

 

“Is it really a robbery if you have a key?” Mickey mused as he fiddled with the pens on Lip’s desk restlessly. 

 

“I’m hanging up.”

 

Mickey waited for an hour in silence, pacing the room and wondering if Lip had been able to get in and out without incident or not. What if he hadn’t? What if he got caught? Those fuckin’ Gallaghers weren’t great at subtlety, so-- 

 

The door flew open, catching him square in the forehead. “Son of a bitch!” 

 

“Monica is a bitch,” Lip’s voice confirmed as the door shut. 

 

Clutching his already-swelling forehead, Mickey snorted, unsure if Lip would beat the shit out of him for laying into Monica further or not. Considering all he'd already pushed in terms of Lip’s boundaries, he figured it might be safer not to. “Did you do it, Gallagher?”

 

Lip grinned, stripping off his jacket and shaking it out on the bed. Mickey’s eyes widened as four watches, three necklaces, and an expensive-looking pocket watch hit the comforter. “Jesus, I only needed a couple grand, not enough to buy a house.”

 

“That isn’t all,” Lip said, reaching into his pants pockets and depositing a few sets of cuff links. “I don’t want you getting stuck and calling me again.” 

 

“You want a fuckin’ thank you?” Mickey said in awe, studying the pile. “I knew these fucks were rich, but rich enough to not miss this shit?”

 

“They don’t even know what they have,” Lip lamented as he cracked the window before lighting a cigarette. “We’re safe.”

 

Mickey knew that he needed to unload this soon, before anyone could trace it back to Lip. If he could track down anyone in the Southside that he had worked with before, it wouldn’t take long. Getting there would be harder. The whole getting out of the country, past the Mexican border, is what would cost him a fortune. Pesos to dollars was the only saving grace he had, knowing he could stretch the money until the next step was clear. 

 

“Thanks,” Mickey said quietly, snagging the cigarette from between Lip’s fingers and taking a drag. “I owe you.”

 

“You owe me a lot,” Lip corrected, taking back the cigarette. “Keeping this from Ian sucks, you know?”

 

Mickey didn’t answer, looking away from the challenge in Lip’s eyes to focus on one of the overly-detailed nipples of the naked lady painted on the wall. “I’m leaving tonight.”

 

“The country?”

 

Shaking his head, Mickey rubbed his lip, still avoiding Lip’s gaze. “Going back to the Southside to get this shit sold. Need a passport, too. Then I’m going to Mexico.”

 

“Don’t let him see you there, Mickey,” Lip warned seriously. “I can’t protect you anymore.”

 

“I know,” Mickey said softly. “I know.”

 

“One other thing.” Lip slipped a cell phone out of his pocket, sliding it across the desk to nudge at Mickey’s fingers. “They left some cash out, so I bought you this on my way back. Figured you might need it.”

 

“Disposable. Smart, Gallagher,” Mickey appraised as he turned the phone over in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Lip thought he’d be free of startling interruptions once Mickey left his dorm room.

 

As it turned out, that was a fuckin’ foolish thought. 

 

His cell phone ringing at 1:30 A.M., with Ian’s name flashing white in the darkness of the room, was enough to remind Lip that nothing in life was easy when you were a Gallagher.  _ Ian doesn’t call,  _ Lip thought hazily.  _ Ian. Never. Calls.  _ Yanking his phone off of the charger, he swiped at the “answer” bubble. “Ian?”

 

“Lip!” 

 

The voice on the other line was bright-- cheery, even. Too bright for the late (early?) hour. 

 

“What’s up, bro?” Lip asked evenly, trying to keep his voice controlled. 

 

“Have you ever gotten a brilliant idea? One that got you right out of bed? Well, not really out of bed. See, I wasn’t asleep. Who needs sleep? Anyways, my idea. I thought to myself, I’ll bust Mickey out of prison! But you know what I remembered?” Ian’s voice paused, but not long enough to let Lip get a word in edgewise. “Mickey isn’t in prison anymore! He broke out two fuckin’ weeks ago! It’s all over the news, have you heard? So then I thought, I’ll go to his house, he’ll be there.”

 

“Was he?” Lip’s voice grated, too nervous to keep it measured anymore. 

 

“No!” Ian laughed, manic and lyrical, sounding too much like Monica. “So I took a walk. Guess where I am?” Another too-short pause. “I’m on a roof!”

 

“What roof?” Lip was standing now, pulling on pants and thinking of how he could possibly beg Amanda for her car keys. He couldn’t be sure that Fiona would wake up, but he wasn’t sure he could get there fast enough, either. All of this was too familiar.

 

“Some apartment building-- get this, someone left their fire escape ladder down. I was like Spider-Man, skittering up it to get here!” The laughter was getting weaker. “It’d be a real nice nice view on the way down.”

 

“Ian,” Lip warned softly, “you don’t need to do this.”

 

“Why not?” Lip could hear the tears now, thick in his brother’s voice. “Nothing feels the same since Mickey left.”

 

“What do you mean?” Lip cleared his throat loudly, trying to cover his mounting panic. “Mickey didn’t want to leave, you know that.”

 

“But he left me!” Ian screamed, the whistle of wind whipping through the line. “He could have ran! He could have found me when he broke out! He didn’t even fucking call!”

 

Lip didn’t know how to respond, slamming his door and locking it as he pressed the phone against his shoulder. Maybe he could just listen. If he could keep Ian on the line, maybe he could fix this.

 

“It’s a long way down,” Ian said softly.

 

“Too long, Ian. You won’t make it.”

 

“Maybe that’s the idea,” his brother whispered, letting out a broken laugh once more. “It can’t hurt anymore if there’s no me left.”

 

“All of this is about Mickey?” Lip prodded, even knowing it wasn’t. This might have been half about Mickey. But this was also about bipolar. This wasn’t just about Ian loving Mickey-- it was about Mickey not being there to coax Ian into taking his meds to keep him level. It was about their shitty genetic makeup from Monica.  It was so much bigger than being left alone. 

 

“I loved him. I loved him and it didn’t matter!” Ian was screaming again, ragged and unforgiving. 

 

“Maybe he was trying to protect you,” Lip ventured as he ran across campus in the direction of the L. 

 

“Protect me from what?” Ian asked guardedly. “It’s cold, Lip.”

 

“Do you have a coat on?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ian--”

 

“What would he be protecting me from?” Ian demanded persistently. 

 

“You said he broke out of prison,” Lip said cautiously. “He’s an escaped convict. You’d go to prison with him, if you were caught together.”

 

“I would go to prison if it meant being with him.”

 

It was hard to ignore the conviction in Ian’s voice. Lip was out of stalling tactics. 

 

“You’re going to hate me when I tell you this,” Lip said thickly, pressing the “door open” button to the L. “But I know something.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Only if you get off the roof.”

 

Lip could hear nothing but shuffling for a few minutes, eventually followed by the sound of something hitting the ground and a muffled curse. 

 

“I’m on the ground.”

 

“I’m still not sure you’ll forgive me.”

 

“Lip!”

 

Closing his eyes, Lip offered a silent prayer of forgiveness to Mickey. He couldn’t take hearing Ian’s pain anymore. “He stayed with me for a while.”

 

“... What?” Ian whispered. 

 

“He came to me and asked for help,” Lip tried again. 

 

“Where is he?” Ian hissed. “What else are you hiding from me?”

 

“Somewhere in Southside. I didn’t want you to--”

 

The line was dead before he could finish his sentence, leaving nothing but the lull of the wind outside the L. He punched a text to Mickey, already knowing what would come of it.  _ Ian is looking for you. I’m sorry.  _

 

* * *

 

Buying an illegal passport would have been a stressful enough situation. Planning to flee the country under the radar should have been hard enough. But when you grow up Southside, nothing goes according to plan. 

  
That was probably enough to explain Ian busting through the door of the Alibi’s upstairs apartment.

 

Lip’s text had been warning enough to plant himself somewhere that Ian could find him, at the risk he’d plow right into some mess he shouldn’t be in. Kevin had been less-than-thrilled to see him, but chucked a key his way all the same, warning him that if Ian came asking, he’d tell him straight up where to find Mickey. Seemed like that had been the case, just like he promised. 

 

“You’re here,” Ian gasped, looking flushed and manic. 

 

“So are you,” Mickey noted. 

 

“You’re supposed to be in prison!” Ian hissed as he slammed the door, pacing the floor. “How the fuck did you get out? Why didn’t you call me? Why the fuck did you call  _ Lip  _ instead of  _ me? _ ”

 

“Could we take it one question at a time?”

 

Ian glared at him, prompting Mickey to raise his hands palm-out in defeat. 

 

“Fine, you want answers? I’ll give you answers. I wasn’t the only one who got out. I planned it with a couple of other dudes. We beat the shit out of some guards. Busted the alarm system. High-tailed it out in a van, ditched it on the side of the road as soon as we were clear of the fence. Booked it on foot until we found a junkyard, rigged some old beater, and got the fuck out of dodge. Ended up back here.”

 

“That was only one of my questions,” Ian pressed, posture stiff as he leaned against the wall to listen to Mickey’s tale. 

 

“I didn’t want to involve you, in case the cops--”

 

“BULLSHIT!” Ian roared. “You wouldn’t involve me, but you’d involve my brother?!”

 

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?!” Mickey shouted, struggling to remain seated. 

“You were supposed to come to me!” Ian cried, pressing a closed fist to the wall. “You were in there because of me!”

 

“You didn’t make me do anything, Ian.”

 

“She was my stupid fucking half-sister.”

 

“And I should have killed her instead of leaving her half-alive,” Mickey spat coldly. “But I made the mistake and I paid for it.”

 

“You would have never met her, never hated her, if it weren’t for me. Gallaghers always drag someone else down into their mess,” Ian muttered, hands carding through his hair as he resumed pacing. “Where are you going?”

 

Mickey followed his gaze to the passport on the endtable, kicking himself that this conversation was now unavoidable. “Mexico.”

 

“I’m going with you,” Ian countered immediately, dropped to kneel in front of Mickey. “We can get away from all this bullshit.”

 

“Ian, you can’t throw away your life to live in another country with an escaped convict.”

 

“I’m not,” Ian corrected, meeting Mickey’s gaze. “I want to run away with the person I love.”

 

“Don’t play that card on me right now, Gallagher,” Mickey groaned, dropping his forehead to press against Ian’s. “I can’t let you do this.”

 

“You aren’t in charge, Milkovich,” Ian whispered. “You can’t ‘let’ me do anything.”

 

“Ian.”

 

“Mickey.”

 

Ian didn’t let him get another word in edgewise, shoving Mickey back against the couch and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Every kiss felt like a punishment, retribution for all the months they’d had to spend missing each other, all the cold visits through a layer of glass. Mickey didn’t think he’d ever get Ian back. Now here he was, pressed under a punishing assault of physical reminders, all the reasons why he never wanted to let Ian go. 

 

Slipping both hands around Ian’s biceps, Mickey let out a sound of surprise against Ian’s teeth.  _ Fuck, he’s gotten even more fit,  _ Mickey mused,  _ didn’t think that was possible.  _

 

“Like what you feel?” Ian whispered against the side of Mickey’s face before sinking his teeth into the side of Mickey’s neck. “Maybe you’ll get a look, when I’m done being pissed.”

 

Mickey didn’t have the will to fight him back, not when Ian’s teeth and tongue were alternating against every tendon in his neck, working him into a haze of moans as his hands squeezed tighter against Ian’s arms. When Ian sat back, Mickey groaned at the loss of heat. Ian paid him no heed, stripping off his shirt and quirking a brow at Mickey.    
  
“Gonna show me how sorry you are?” Ian prompted, unbuckling his belt. “How you should have called me and not Lip? How much you missed me?”

 

The manic edge was back in his voice, and Mickey could think of one way to keep it at bay. Shedding his jacket, and tugging his own shirt over his head, Mickey yanked Ian’s pants down, letting them pool around his shoes and leaving nothing but an expanse of pale skin as his gaze trailed upwards. Maybe not  _ all  _ skin-- there was a stiffening muscle, right in line with his face, that Mickey had missed. 

 

“I missed you,” Mickey breathed, wrapping a hand around the base of Ian’s cock and stroking as he spoke. “I missed you every day for nine months, three weeks, and 4 days. I counted. I thought of you. I thought of this.” 

  
There was nothing else to say as Ian’s hips thrust forward to meet Mickey’s open mouth. 

 

Gripping Ian’s hips hard enough to bruise, Mickey drew him closer, further down his throat until he couldn’t help but pull back with a cough. 

 

“You’re out of practice,” Ian chided with a laugh, tipping Mickey’s head back and arching up onto his toes before sliding his cock into Mickey’s mouth once more. “I know you can do better.”

 

Moaning around his cock as Ian took control, Mickey held longer, deeper. The rush of serotonin at pleasing the man he loved was undeniable, making his own cock throb harder under the tight pull of his borrowed jeans. Pulling back, Mickey stroked Ian once more, looking up desperately. “Ian, please,” Mickey breathed. “A little help here?”

 

Ian tugged Mickey up by the elbows, nudging him backwards to couch before pulling off his shoes. The jeans and shirt followed, and the feel of Ian’s hand (fuck, he had huge hands) wrapped around Mickey’s cock was faster than Mickey could process. Hissing in relief at the touch, he arched off of the couch, pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock and onto Ian’s fingers. With a smirk, Ian let go long enough to slip his fingers into his mouth, eyes never leaving Mickey’s stunned expression. 

 

“I’m not gonna last long,” Mickey admitted as Ian’s hand sought his cock once more. 

 

“You don’t have to,” Ian placated, tugging Mickey upwards to bend him over the couch. “But we don’t have any lube.”

 

“Hand,” Mickey demanded roughly, impatient. 

Ian held his hand in front of Mickey’s face, letting him coat Ian’s fingers with a thick layer of spit. “That’s enough, Mick,” Ian breathed as he slicked himself. “Good?”

 

“I’m fine, Ian,” Mickey said softly. 

 

Nudging Mickey’s feet apart wider, Ian pressed against him, fingers gripping at Mickey’s ass as his cock slipped into him. Mickey groaned, arching back into Ian with all the need that their months apart had pent up, as Ian surged forward. They fell into a comfortable rhythm, familiarity coloring every motion. 

 

“Mickey,” Ian moaned tightly, picking up the pace. “I can’t hold back.”

 

“Don’t,” Mickey breathed, reaching back to lace his fingers with Ian’s. “C’mon.”

 

Ian took heed, tightening his grip on Mickey’s fingers as his motions became harder, more erratic. “Mick, I--”

 

“I love you, Ian,” Mickey choked out, arching back against Ian’s hips and stroking his cock in tandem with every thrust. “I can't…” He trailed off, groaning as he came in his hand, shuddering under Ian.    
  
“I love you too,” Ian affirmed as he fell forward, head resting against Mickey’s shoulder blade as he came, hips stuttering to a stilled halt. 

 

“This mean I’m forgiven?” Mickey laughed from his position, pinned underneath Ian.

 

“This means I’m still coming with you,” Ian corrected. “And you’re not going to argue anymore.”

 

“We’ve spent our whole relationship arguing,” Mickey couldn’t help but quip back. 

 

Ian reached a hand around Mickey to half-heartedly pinch his nipple, earning a yelp of protest from Mickey. Pulling away, Ian pulled Mickey to his chest, kissing his hair. “I’m serious. I’m coming with you.”

 

“Okay,” Mickey said eventually, curling into Ian’s side. “Okay.”


End file.
